


Eurydice

by ladyofpride



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Kisses, M/M, lots of kisses, lovers lost and found, post-Len saves the Universe, post-season 1 of lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-14
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-25 12:38:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17725367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofpride/pseuds/ladyofpride
Summary: Having allowed himself to drift into the void again, he almost misses it, that familiar pressure against his lips. He sees no one; the air doesn’t stir. And yet…And yet, he no longer feels quite alone.





	Eurydice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Green_Sphynx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Green_Sphynx/gifts).



> A/N: This was written as a Valentine's gift for my lovely giftee, Green_Sphynx. My brain, darling, latched onto your prompt, "Kisses", and then it ran away on me for a bit. I hope you enjoy what I've concocted for you on this very special day...

It begins with a kiss.

He can’t prove that unequivocally, but he intuitively _knows_ that fleeting feeling against his lips, a gentle pressure and a swift release, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. All it’s lacking is the sound and substance of another human being, whole and visible before him.

Standing in his lab at the CCPD, casually glancing out the window at the burgeoning summer storm, Barry raises his fingertips to his mouth and wonders. It must be his imagination. He’s alone in here.

All alone.

~*~*~*~

Since Hunter’s death, life has been slow.

He’s tempted to go back, _far_ back, and change it all, starting with Eobard and his mother. It would be easy. He already knows what to do and how to do it. The only thing missing is his nerve.

Something’s holding him back. He spends too many nights like this, lying awake until dawn, wondering what’s the worst that could happen if he did a little something for himself for a change, something _benevolent_ —because what nobler compulsion could there be than the simple desire to save one’s mother? But thinking of all the small things he could change leads to the concern of what bigger things will follow after, like butterfly wings and hurricanes, and then sleep eludes him altogether, thoughts tumultuous, confidence shattered…

Agitated, he finally rises from bed and leans against the wall beside his window, staring out at the oily gleam of the asphalt down below, washed out from the rain. He would never wish for the non-existence of the Flash, but there are times when he _does_ wish life was simple again, that his greatest daily temptation was still the urge to hit the snooze button for a second time in a row. Now, with a power such as his, the possibility of reclaiming an ordinary life haunts him constantly. There’s almost no escaping the _what ifs_ of an existence free of conflict.

Having allowed himself to fall into the void again, he almost misses it, that familiar pressure against his lips. He sees no one; the air doesn’t stir. And yet…

And yet, he no longer feels quite alone.

~*~*~*~

The next time it happens, he’s dived headfirst into the heady stream of the Speed Force and welcomed the lightning back into his veins.

That is, to say, he’s in the process of evacuating a burning office building just off 113 St, a blazing inferno too immense to suffocate in the time he has left. They have a faulty fire alarm system and the tenacity of a pyromaniac to thank for that, but it’s not his job to assign blame. He’s already cleared out all the late-night workaholics and is making his last round to make sure he didn’t miss anyone, and _then_ he’ll track down whoever was responsible for this.

As he’s standing on the seventh floor, eyes scanning the smoldering cubicles around him, face stinging from the heat, he feels it: a sip of cold against his burning lips, fleeting but _real._

Without thinking, he dives back into the stream to slow the hands of time. And once he’s sucked back into that eternal plane of existence, he reaches out to grab at the spectre before him, fisting the front of what feels like a shirt. For a splint-second he sees too-blue eyes and the coy curl of a lip. Then the Speed Force spits him right back out where he started, holding onto nothing but thin air.

The cold lingers a moment longer before he’s reminded of the heat and the smoke and the tiny voices in his earpiece warning him to _move_ already. He only hesitates long enough to convince himself that what he saw was real before he’s running again, eyes on his immediate environment, scanning for stragglers.

But at the back of his mind, he can’t help but think of those too-blue eyes and that crooked smile.

To him, it looked alarmingly like Leonard Snart.

~*~*~*~

Leonard Snart was a curious man.

Both hero and thief, selfish and self-sacrificial, Barry always had a hard time figuring him out. For the most part, Barry always hoped that the good would someday outweigh the bad in him and that he would see the side of Len that _should’ve_ been, had he not suffered such a terrible childhood at his father’s hands. And Barry did, in a way, though it was still a shock to hear of his passing. It made Barry feel stupid for forgetting that Len was a human being with human limitations and guilty for all but forcing Len into such a hellish situation. After all, would Len ever had entertained the idea of giving his life for the greater good if Barry hadn’t poked and prodded at the solitary grain of goodness budding inside him?

The shame and anger have dwindled over time, though they still sting whenever Barry thinks of the man—which is often now since the fire. It’s been weeks, but Barry still can’t decide if what he saw was real or imagined, a hallucination brought upon by heat exhaustion and too much adrenaline. But it can’t be real, and that’s a fact. Leonard Snart’s body and soul were scattered across reality in one final burst of energy powerful enough to incinerate flesh and bone. Wherever he is right now—if he’s _anywhere_ right now—it’s on another plane of existence, the kind of place Barry imagines he’ll one day be reunited with his parents.

~*~*~*~

Technically, though…the Speed Force _is_ kind of its own plane of existence.

Which is a maddening thought, because it would almost explain how Barry was able to touch him, to grip him by the shirt and _hold him_ that split second before he vanished. They were there together in the Speed Force, charged by the same current, trapped in the same closed loop. However long the experience lasted, they shared something deeper and more intimate than a kiss—

Which is, itself, a confusing matter, because they were never lovers and hardly friends. These kisses are unnatural—not because he would be averse to kissing a man he so admired, but because he’s sure Len only ever liked him for the challenge Barry provided him, nothing more. Len wasn’t the sort of person who made social attachments, at least any that were meaningful. Unless, of course, this was a purely sexual level of attraction, in which case, yes, perhaps, Barry’s seen those too-blue eyes rake over him more than once before and wondered if Len was sizing him up as the competition or a conquest—

But, again, a kiss seems like a strange way to reach out to someone. Barry will just have to ask him why when he sees him again—

 _If_ he ever sees him again, of course.

~*~*~*~

And he does, much sooner than he was expecting and in an entirely different setting than what he would’ve ever imagined.

He’s not fighting or working or running for his life. He’s simply sprinting through the forest just to the west of Central City, practicing his footwork and clearing his mind. He’s got his suit on his and his earpiece tuned into the Cortex in case he’s needed, but his team knows he’s taking a little downtime for himself today, just breathing in some fresh air and feeding the fire inside his soul.

Between one step and the next, the speckled sunlight cuts through the canopy of leaves above and blinds him. His foot connects with the ground, which feels flatter than before, and so he skids to a halt, blinking rapidly until his vision returns.

When it does, he realizes he’s standing in the Cortex, which is alarmingly empty. Only the floor lights are on, a dim, blue glow from the side offices. His ears pops and his voice echoes as he calls out a hesitant _hello_ , like his head is under water and something’s tapping against the glass. It’s as if he’s entered another dimension.

Which he’s certain he has when he turns around and spots a familiar figure standing in front of his suit’s empty mannequin. His back is turned, but Barry would recognize that dark blue jacket and silvery head of hair anywhere.

_“Do you ever just travel through time to take in the sights?”_

Pulling back his hood, Barry takes a hesitant step forward. He’s nervous, heart hammering inside his chest. He hopes this isn’t a dream. That would be too cruel.

“I’ve been tempted,” he admits, taking another step. “In fact, I’m at war with myself over whether or not I should go back in time and change a few things, but I don’t know what the repercussions will be.”

He’s thinking of saving his mother, of course, and, by proxy, his father. If he can save one of them, he can probably save both. He might not become the Flash, but—

 _“The Speed Force gave you to the world,”_ Leonard continues, still staring at the empty mannequin, _“and if you misbehave, it’ll take you right back, sooner than anticipated.”_

“Take me back?” Barry asks, confused.

 _“Where do you think all speedsters go when they die?”_ Leonard postulates, finally turning. There’s a familiar crook at the corner of his lips but also a certain sadness in his eyes, a kind of old wisdom shining there that weathers the soul. He waves his right hand vaguely across the room, as if trying to encompass anything and everything. _“Your lightning is eternal. When you pass away, you won’t be lovingly folded into the earth. You’ll live on in here, body and soul, right where you belong.”_

It sounds like nonsense, not at all something the Leonard Snart he knows would ever say, though it almost feels true. Barry doesn’t know what to think of it—of the possibility of spending an eternity with every other speedster, good or bad. Could he mentally survive co-existing with Eobard? With Zolomon?

Without his friends and family?

“That sounds like a lonely existence,” Barry admits, moving closer until they’re less than an arm’s length apart.

 _“It doesn’t have to be,”_ Leonard replies, reaching up for Barry’s face, cupping it with his cold  hands before pulling him in for a kiss.

Barry lets him, and when their lips collide, he feels it—the same, strange energy that flows into him from the Speed Force is now coursing between them, through one and then into the one, over and over again, a perfect little stream in their peculiar haven.

Barry closes his eyes and reality hits him.

Or rather, he hits the dirt, foot slipping out from beneath him as he steps on a patch of moldy leaves. He then tumbles head over heel, rolling to a stop in the undergrowth, ears ringing until he can hear Cisco calling to him through their shared channel.

_“You alright buddy?”_

“I’m fine,” he groans, still lying on the ground. He’s not injured, but he hurts.

_“You sure? Your vitals peaked and then completely disappeared for a second there. Did you jump between worlds again or something?”_

“I…might’ve popped into the Speed Force.”

 _“Weird, but okay…”_ There’s a pause from Cisco’s end of the line, filled with the sound of him hammering away at the keyboard. _“We’ve got a theft in progress, if you’re interested. Bank robbers. Not metas, but it’s a slow day. I’m sure the cops would appreciate the assist.”_

“I’m on it,” Barry says, listening for the coordinates as he hops back to his feet, ready to run again.

He doesn’t say a word about Leonard.

~*~*~*~

But he sure does think about him.

 _Constantly_.

He gets a little flutter of excitement in the pit of his stomach whenever he considers the possibility of Leonard Snart still being alive, even if it’s just in the Speed Force. He doesn’t know if it’s possible, but Barry can hardly complain. He fights metas on the regular, people who should’ve died the night the particle accelerator exploded but were instead completely remade. Who’s to say Leonard wasn’t affected by that same cloud of dark matter, that all he needed was a little spark to find himself becoming _more_ than a mere human being?

He gets so caught up in his thoughts, other people start to notice, although thankfully in a good way. Captain Singh, in particular.

“You’re looking happier, Allen,” Singh remarks one day as he’s swinging by the crime lab, a new file in hand. He eyes the ‘out box’ on Barry’s desk, which is stacked higher than normal. “No backlogs this week either.”

Technically, Barry sometimes runs a few experiments at regular speed, just for the appearance of normalcy, but his head has been too muddled for him to focus on trying to pass as ‘normal’ these past few days. “None?” he asks, somewhat worried, wondering if his boss if finally catching on to him.

“That’s…a good thing,” the Captain assures him, “especially considering you just came off bereavement.”

“Right.” Smoothing down the front of his sweater, Barry rises from his seat to take the file in Singh’s outstretched hand. He goes with a half-lie, half-truth, because that’s easiest: “My therapist has been encouraging me to get in touch with old friends for support. I recently reconnected with someone who’s…been missing for quite some time.”

“That’s good.” Singh digs his hands into his trouser pockets, obviously searching for something else to say so that Barry doesn’t clue into the fact that he just came up here to see how well he’s faring. “Were they out of the country?”

Barry nods, because that’s a close enough assumption. “Soul searching, I think.”

“Did they come back better off than when they left?”

Barry thinks of Leonard the Thief and Leonard the Hero again.

With a small smile, he says. “I think he did.”

~*~*~*~

He feels like he needs a strategy, but you can’t exactly strategize before you’ve decided what your endgame is.

Vaguely, Barry knows he wants to bridge the gap between himself and Leonard, to pull this spectre back through to the real world and determine if he’s real or not. How he’s going to do that is beyond him, though.

The only people who can enter the Speed Force freely—at least to his knowledge—are speedsters. That really only leaves him with Jay Garrick to probe for information, although he doesn’t sound too optimistic about Barry’s pending experiment.

“Have you ever thought about why he’s in the Speed Force to begin with?”

Sitting in the corner of a Jitters on Earth 3, nursing a cup of coffee with the man who shares his father’s face, Barry shifts uncomfortably in his seat and says, “He…got scattered across all time and space? I’m assuming that the Speed Force, which is also connected to all time and space, is the only place he could stably pull himself together again?”

“So…do you think it would be safe to pull him back out?”

Barry shrugs, trying to avoid eye contact, trying to ignore the look of pity in Jay’s eyes. “I…don’t know? I think it’s possible—I’ve felt his influence outside the Speed Force already.”

Jay’s interest is obviously piqued by this. He frowns curiously and tilts his head a little to one side. “Oh? How so?”

It takes Barry a split second to realize he’s too embarrassed to talk about the kiss, so he goes with something vague instead. “Just…a brush of contact. Skin on skin. I thought someone touched me—a few times, actually, but no one was there. Turns out, it was him.”

“How did you figure that out?”

He wishes Jay would stop grilling him—after all, _he’s_ the one who came here for information—but he humours his friend anyway. “He pulled me into the Speed Force one day while I was running. We talked for a bit.”

Something darkens in the furrow of Jay’s brow, a kind of wariness and concern that Barry wasn’t expecting. “There are a lot of things in the Speed Force, Barry, both good and bad. You’ve seen the spectres. You’ve also seen how easily the Speed Force can take on the appearance of a loved one, such as your mother. Don’t be so sure what you saw was really him.”

“But—”

“Trust me, kid.” Jay uncurls one of his hands from his steaming cup to reach out and squeeze Barry’s wrist in comfort. It’s warm and calloused and reminds Barry achingly of his father’s touch. “And promise me you won’t go looking for him again. If it’s not him, he could hurt you; if it _is_ him, there’s no guarantee he can exist outside the Speed Force. You shouldn’t push him to make a decision that could destroy him. He made a considerable sacrifice for your world, and maybe this is the only way The Powers That Be can thank him.”

It sounds so cliché and unfair. Barry’s stomach turns at the thought of abandoning Snart to his fate. _His_ team didn’t leave him in the Speed Force, after all.

But Jay is old and set in his ways and…and allowed to be skeptical, given his life experiences, so Barry can tell he isn’t going to get what he needs from the other man today. Instead, he nods his head graciously and sips his coffee and thinks about cold caresses until it’s time for him to return home.

He feels only mildly guilty for not keeping his promise.

~*~*~*~

The next time he sees Snart is because he seeks him out.

He runs through the forest again under the premise of exercise and finds himself tripping into the other dimension just as the light, warmth, and buzzing energy flowing through him reach their peak. This time, he finds himself in a large room without windows or doors, lit only through the many cracks between the panels of the walls, themselves set in uneven shapes, large and small. It is dim and blue and cold in here and unlike anything he’s ever seen before.

Thankfully, though, Leonard is here.

He’s standing in front of a transparent screen at the far end of the room, facing away from Barry, wearing his familiar leather coat. Without turning, he says, _“You came back.”_

Barry approaches slowly, hood pulled back, still eyeing the room. “Where are we?”

Len glances back at him, brow furrowed in confusion. _“Devoe’s.”_

“Where’s that?”

Len’s face relaxes suddenly before he turns away again, as though he just realized something. _“Never mind…You should go.”_

“Why?”

 _“Because he’s right.”_ It takes Barry a second, but then he realizes Len must be talking about Jay. _“There are bad things in here, too, Barry Allen, and I don’t know that I’m not one of them.”_

“You’re definitely Leonard Snart,” Barry replies, slowing to a halt when he’s almost close enough to reach out and touch the other man, “because only Leonard Snart would wonder if he’s really good enough to be ‘Good’.”

Len tilts his head back suddenly, a sign that Barry’s observation holds some weight for him. _“Is that so?”_  he ponders, bemused, but he doesn’t turn around again. He’s too focused on something playing out on the screen before him. Faintly, Barry can hear a little girl laughing.

Barry steps up beside Len and eyes the screen. It looks like the grainy video of a little girl chasing an older boy through a yard. The boy’s playing keep-away with a small, orange ball; the little girl is having fun.

“Lisa?” Barry asks, realizing the boy bears a remarkable resemblance to his ill-fated companion. He glances aside at Len, whose face is pinched with pain.

_“I can’t reach her from here.”_

“Only me?”

_“Only a speedster, I think, although I’m not too eager to test that theory on your friend.”_

In more way than one, Barry is beginning to regret having that little chat with Jay.

“Do you think you could survive on the outside?” he asks.

_“ ‘Being’ somewhere isn’t the problem, I think. It’s the transition from point A to point B.”_

“Did the Speed Force impart some kind of infinite wisdom on you?” Barry asks, curious about his strange omnipotence.

_“My brain’s been blown to smithereens across all time. I’ve got bits and pieces of information in here that make some sense, but not a lot and not often. This knowledge comes and goes. Like me.”_

That worries Barry, the bit about him coming and going, as if he isn’t stable enough even here, where reality bends to a greater force than any other he will ever know. “Do you have any idea how you can get back to the real world?”

 _“ ‘Real’ ?”_ Len quips with a small smirk. Finally, he faces Barry, eyes practically glowing in the low light.

“You know what I mean.”

 _“I need a lightning rod,”_ Len continues, smirk morphing into something a little sad.

“A vessel?”

 _“A ‘vessel’?”_ Len laughs for some reason, a low chuckle that sounds deliciously warm to Barry. _“I’ve always wanted to fill you up, Scarlet, but not quite like this.”_

“Whatever it takes,” Barry replies. “Now kiss me.”

There’s a hesitation from Len. He looks at Barry—really _looks_ at him and says, _“What if it doesn’t work?”_

 _‘What if it does?’_ Barry wants to ask, but already he’s pushed back to reality, skidding to a more graceful halt than last time.

Caitlin makes a concerned inquiry about his vitals, but Barry tells her he’s fine.

Even if he’s really not.

~*~*~*~

He suffers many a sleepless night thinking about Len and the ‘real world’.

He knows that Len might want to stay where he is for any number of reasons, but Barry finds it hard to believe there isn’t some underlying issue that could be fixed. Perhaps Len is afraid he won’t survive the so-called transition from ‘point A’ to ‘point B’?

Or, worse yet, maybe he doesn’t _think_ he deserves a second chance at life…

Barry snorts at that thought almost as soon as it occurs to him, but that doesn’t banish it from his mind. Instead, it lingers for a long, _long_ time at the back of his memory.

Because it could be true.

~*~*~*~

_“We need to stop meeting like this.”_

Oddly enough, Barry wasn’t off on one of his joy-runs. He just wrapped up a car chase, having saved three men from taking an icy plunge into the river following a very foolish jewelry heist. He thought about popping in to see Leonard on his way back to S.T.A.R. Labs and ended up following through with that wish before he knew what he was really doing.

Leonard’s familiar drawl prompts a small smile from Barry. Today, they’re standing in Barry’s bedroom. Leonard’s leaning against the windowsill, glancing over his shoulder at the street below. Moonlight streams into the room, cool and patient, softening up the shadows in the periphery of Barry’s vision.

“Says the man that invited himself into my bedroom.”

 _“It’s not too bad actually,”_ Len replies, eyeing the grade-school science awards plastered on the wall and the old Lego display on the small dresser by the door. _“Could use a makeover…You don’t take your dates up here, do you?”_

Barry glances over the relics of his childhood and takes a step closer to Snart. “Do you really find this all that distracting?”

 _“Maybe some people do,”_ Len purrs, pushing off the windowsill. He takes an equal step forward to greet him. _“But not all.”_

Barry can almost feel that heady energy cycling between them again. There’s a part of him that aches to save Len—the same part that would potentially agree to stay here, if only to forever join the same stream of electricity flowing through them now.

_“Are you here to play ‘Hero’ again?”_

“Are you going to shut up and kiss me already?”

Leonard finally humors him.

They kiss again. Barry’s whole world flies apart. He feels a tongue probing between his lips, and he yields to it; he feels an arm snake around his waist, and he surrenders to that, too, cupping Leonard’s face in his hands, breathing in the cold. He can feel it pooling at the back of his throat, but it goes no further.

He pulls Leonard in closer, as if trying to drink him in. Leonard simply kisses him in return, mouth moving, his free hand sliding down to the back of Barry’s thigh, bracing him for a roll of the hips against his pelvis. It sends a shock of arousal down his spine, finally prompting him to break for air, chest heaving as he stares into Leonard’s eyes.

“It…didn’t work,” Barry forces out between breathes, still holding on to Len, confused and hurt and disheartened.

Leonard stares at him silently for a moment, not a proverbial hair out of place, and then somewhat sadly says, _“Because I wasn’t really trying.”_

“What—?” Barry begins, but Len is already pushing him away—

He skids to a halt on the pavement in a darkened alleyway, still heaving, blood rushing in his ears.

He doesn’t respond to Cisco’s worried questions in his ear.

But only because he’s so disappointed, he knows he’d choke on the words if he tried.

~*~*~*~

That disappointment turns to anger with frightening ease. He doesn’t understand why Len is being obstinate, why he can’t swallow his pride for once and just accept the help Barry is offering him.

He wants to go back to give Len a piece of his mind, but he’s out of sorts for the rest of the week and can barely keep up to speed during his moonlighting hours as a vigilante. Even Caitlin begins to probe him with questions about his reduced pace, but he brushes off her concerns by claiming he just feels under the weather. Which he does, in a way. There’s just nothing more vexing than being unable to save someone who desperately needs saving.

In something of a mood, he doesn’t really think about what he’s doing when he drops by Saints & Sinners one Tuesday evening, when the crowds are scarce and the bartender is only half-paying attention to his clientele. There are a few guys playing pool by the jukebox and another group huddled somewhat secretively together in a booth at the far back, the only other patron being a lovely lady with a head of golden brown curls perched at the bar with a whiskey in hand. Barry takes one look at her and then settles into the seat next to her, wondering what he should say.

She looks tired the way she’s leaning forward, cheek propped up against her fist as she rotates her glass in her other hand, lazily chasing the block of ice inside around the edge. She blinks at him in mild surprise when he just plunks down there beside her, but then recognition flashes across her face, the telltale sign that Len let it slip to at least one other person that Barry Allen was the Flash.

For what it’s worth, she does a good job of covering up that flicker of recognition, face relaxing quickly enough that anyone but a speedster probably would’ve missed it. “It’s awfully late to be out on a school night,” she drawls at him, voice lighter than her brother’s but still warmed by the same soft sarcasm. “You’d better run along before the bartender cards you, kid.”

He knows the Snart siblings can elude an honest conversation like no other, so he cuts to the chase, aiming for optimal shock value when he says, “What did Mick tell you when your brother died?”

And shock her he does, her eyes going wide at the question. She straightens in her chair, brow furrowed in indignation, an insult perched on the tip of her tongue—but she falters. Her mouth opens and then slowly closes again, and Barry can see the fight go out of her between one breath and the next. He figures it must be because of his own somber demeaner, the pull of sadness at the corner of his eyes and lips that shows her that he didn’t necessarily come here to hurt her.

Suddenly uncertain of herself, Lisa clasps her glass of whiskey between both of her hands on the bar top and stares down into the amber liquid. Her mouth works minutely over an unspoken question until she finds enough of her voice to glance back at him and say, “What do you want, Allen?”

Barry shifts uncomfortably in his seat. He’d feel awfully crummy if Len was watching him right now. He shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have opened old wounds with the man’s only family. And yet...in for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes.

“If you could say one last thing to Leonard, what would it be?”

Her brow crumples a little, hit by another wave of sadness. Barry feels like a right bastard for doing that to her, for making her look somehow smaller and more vulnerable than the grown woman she really is, thunder completely lost at the reminder of her late brother. “Is…is he not dead yet?”

Her answer gives him pause. He wasn’t expecting her to still be holding out hope that her brother was alive.

Caught on his back foot, Barry mentally stumbles over how he should proceed. He should immediately apologize and leave, he realizes, but his tongue is suddenly stuck to the roof of his mouth, and all he makes is this horribly inadequate noise before Lisa stares back into her glass of whiskey and quietly says, “ ‘I love you’.”

Shame burns up the back of his throat like acid, the palms of his hands turning cold and clammy as he decides that he _really_ needs to leave—but then Lisa waves two fingers at the bartender for another drink and mutters a weary “Park your ass right back down” the second he moves an inch off his barstool.

Sufficiently cowed, he sinks back into his seat.

The drink, he soon finds out, is for him. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her that alcohol doesn’t do a thing for him, so he sucks on his whiskey for appearance’s sake as she works on her own. They sit like that together for a long time in relative silence, nursing their drinks and their invisible bruises, until she says, “He raised me, you know?”

Quietly, Barry nods.

She looks at him again. Her eyes are a little red and glossy, like she’s close to crying but too proud to do it here. He doesn’t say anything as she takes him in, really _looking_ at him for the first time without the mask. “He liked you,” she adds. “Even after that time you stranded him in the woods god-knows-where outside Central, he still liked you. I used to think it was the strangest thing…Your only appeal was supposed to be that you were a ‘challenge’.”

Barry’s stomach does a little flip. Meekly, he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” she asks, taking another sip of her drink.

“If…” Barry tries to find the words, though no words could adequately describe how guilty he feels about Leonard’s death, “…if I hadn’t told him—”

“Kid,” she says, blunt, “if he hadn’t adopted a conscience and been killed by that ocula-thing, he would’ve been gunned down by the cops someday or put to rest by one of the many enemies he made in his lifetime. Lenny was the master of his own destiny. That’s the whole reason he blew himself up in the first place, you know.”

Her eyes are still glossy with unshed tears, but her voice doesn’t waver. In fact, she sounds a little angry—as she has every right to be—but she calms down again after a minute. Then she tips her glass up, as if making a toast. “To my brother. Goddamnit, do I ever miss that bastard…”

Barry lifts his glass as well and takes a half-decent swig, savoring the burn of the whiskey as it worms its way down his throat. Lisa polishes hers off in one go and then rises from her seat, probably looking for a little privacy now that he’s worked her up.

Barry pulls out his wallet to pay, but Lisa slaps the back of his hand to put it away. “I probably make more in a year than you do in a decade at your cushy, little, white-collared job. When you see Lenny in heaven—or wherever the hell you heroes go when you die—buy him a round for me, okay?”

Respectfully, Barry nods.

Lisa hollers at the bartender to put it on her tab, then zips up her black leather coat and breezes out into the night, off to fight her demons the best she knows how. Barry lingers there a little longer, continuing to nurse his drink for the next half hour, the one he toasted to Leonard Snart.

Despite his best efforts, he doesn’t finish it.

~*~*~*~

Inevitably, Leonard comes calling again, and this time he pulls Barry into the Speed Force in a completely unorthodox way.

Barry’s just sitting at his desk in the forensic lab one evening, updating a file on the computer, when the power goes off in the building.

At least, he _assumes_ the power’s gone out, but even with the faint moonlight illuminating the room, he can see a blue haze overlaying his reality. It takes him less than a heartbeat to realize he’s been pulled into the Speed Force, stomach turning when it occurs to him that Len is finally going to call him to task over his visit with Lisa.

And, sure enough, he does.

_“That’s a pretty low blow for a ‘ **hero** ’, don’t you think?”_

Barry folds his hands together over the top of his desk, watching as Len strolls into the room at a brisk pace, eyes flashing dangerously.

Barry knows he should apologize, but instead his mouth, which apparently has a mind of its own, says, “You wanted to see her.”

 _“I can see her **without** your help, Allen,” _Len growls, walking right up to Barry’s desk. He leans forward, hands braced against the polished wood surface, as if he honestly believes such a tactic could ever intimidate Barry. _“Don’t play dumb with me—I know you only talked to her to guilt me into coming back.”_

“Why _don’t_ you want to come back?” Barry finally snaps, rising from his seat. He doesn’t know what Len wants from him, but, by god, does he wish he did. “Why did you even kiss me in the first place if you didn’t want my attention?”

Len stares at him for a long, hard moment, brows furrowed in anger. Slowly, then, he straightens up again, aggressively tugging on the cuff of his left sleeve to readjust his jacket.

Slowly, too, it finally occurs to Barry that Len hadn’t been trying to get his attention at all with that first kiss.

“You…didn’t know I would notice,” Barry says, stunned, “did you? So, then…why _did_ you kiss me?”

Len averts his gaze suddenly, as if he’s afraid that Barry will see straight through his cold façade and into his soul. Then Barry feels a _push_ toward the real world—but he pushes right on back. What results is an alarming wave of nausea and a weakening of the knees, almost enough to buckle him right then and there. Somehow, though, he manages to stay upright.

Surprised, Leonard finally looks at him again. Scowling, he says, _“Do you really need me to spell it out for you, Barry? I’m a hedonist with a healthy sex-drive. I kissed you because I needed to get it off my chest.”_

“You kissed me a couple of times,” Barry corrects him.

_“And you kissed me back. Most of the time. What’s your point?”_

“That there’s an obvious solution to our problem.”

As Barry rounds his desk, Len takes a considerable step back, as if anxious to maintain the distance between them. Surprised, Barry stops his advance. “I don’t understand. Why—”

 _“It’s obsessed with you,”_ Len replies, his non-sequitur throwing Barry for a bit of a loop. _“At first, I thought it was just me, but then I realized you’re supposedly its golden child, its ‘prime’—and it seems really hung up on the fact that there’s a part of you that still wants to save your parents.”_

Barry…does. That’s certainly true. He can’t lie about that.

“It’s not wrong, but…I don’t know. Ever since I first spoke with you, I’ve become more at peace with—”

 _“That’s **exactly** my point,”_ Len snaps, turning away, walking slowly around the column beside Barry’s desk. _“When I first came here, I could barely string a coherent thought together. Finding you felt like serendipity, but now I can’t help but wonder if I wasn’t brought to you by the Speed Force. I swear to god, sometimes it feels as though it’s speaking through me…”_

Leonard did seem pretty off during their first conversation, but Barry had chalked it up to fact that Len and his merry band of misfits had been playing with Time in a way that left its mark on Len. Barry still thinks that’s the case, because why would the Speed Force use Leonard as a mouthpiece when it already knew the likeness of his mother would do?

“The Speed Force doesn’t exactly need a liaison,” he replies, slowly making his way toward Leonard, nice and easy, not too eager to fight a second ejection back into reality. “It—”

 _“It knows you have a hard time saying goodbye,”_ Leonard cuts in, rounding the column one last time, now standing entirely too close to Barry. _“I can’t help but wonder if I was brought here to help you along with that little lesson, to give you the chance to bid a proper farewell to someone else who’s apparently near and dear to you.”_

Barry opens his mouth to object, but then he slowly closes it again. He thinks he understands Len’s fear a little better now. The man already had to come to terms with his own demise once before, but he still pulled the proverbial trigger just to prove he was nobody’s puppet—and yet here he was again, strung along by some force unseen, faced with the same painful decision of complacency or annihilation.

If this _is_ what’s wearing down on Len’s mind, it’s a hell of a beast for Barry to tackle, especially on his own. So, he goes for a different route, bringing his own narrative into the light and letting Len keep his insecurities to himself. “I’ve already come to terms with my mother’s death,” Barry says. “And my father’s. I loved them dearly—and I’ll still do right by them, regardless of what anyone might say to me. Even you. I think the Speed Force knows me well enough by now to realize that.”

Leonard stares at him for another long, hard moment, weighing his honesty and his worth. Eventually, though, he asks, _“If I’m not the very messenger of Time itself, then what am I to you?”_

“I don’t know,” Barry says softly, truthfully, glancing briefly at Leonard’s lips despite himself. They’re too close. Far too close… “If anything, a part of my future, I hope.”

Another long pause from Len; Barry slowly begins to lose his nerve. He wonders if he’s said something wrong, if Len thinks his words have no substance—but then Len’s hand is cupping the back of his head and their mouths collide in an all too familiar dance, hard and sure and _starving_. Barry can feel him now— _really_ feel him, a cold that creeps down his throat and into his bones before settling there, seizing him in a way that’s truly indescribable. And the craziest part of it all is that Barry doesn’t want to _leave_. He wants to stay there with Len, suspended in the in-between, so long as Leonard wishes to remain there.

Although it’s too bad that Leonard doesn’t feel the same.

Barry reaches up to hold him in return, and he winds up grasping at thin air. The lights are back on, and Leonard is gone. It’s just him alone, standing beside the support column beside his desk.

He stands there for a moment longer, stunned, before he returns to his seat, sinking into it with a heaviness in his heart.

Yet again, he’s failed.

~*~*~*~

It’s fortunate that nothing unusual happens in Central City later that night, because Barry doesn’t really have the energy to face off against anyone. He’s been depressed on and off an awful lot this year, and now he’s back on the downswing. He doesn’t even try to hide it from his team. They tell him to go home and get some rest, which is exactly what he does, though sleep continues to elude him. He rolls onto his side, closes his eyes, and tries to keep his mind blank, but he can’t stop thinking about Len or the weightiness in his chest or the sick, roiling sensation in the pit of his stomach.

He wakes up the next morning feeling as though an elephant’s sitting on his chest. It’s only with Herculean effort that he’s able to pull himself out of bed, shower, and dress in an acceptable manner for work. He grabs his workbag on the way out and his phone, noticing 10 missed calls from the precinct. Just splendid.

He sobers up a bit when he realizes the precinct wouldn’t have tried to call him unless it was an emergency, but he runs there before he realizes he should’ve called back before coming. It couldn’t have anything to do with Joe, because his car was in the driveway this morning. Iris, perhaps? But no—if she’d been hurt, Joe also would’ve been on his way here by now.

The answer comes to Barry as he’s walking toward the lab, intending to stow his bag in his locker before hunting down the Captain. He comes up a group of people in hazmat suits pulling out scorched debris into the hallway. Captain Singh, who’s loitering just outside the lab door, spots him immediately and dances around his people to get to Barry. Meanwhile, Barry just stands there, somewhat dumbfounded, wondering if he accidentally left something explosive out overnight or if whoever was on the morning shift did something similarly stupid.

“Christ, Allan,” Singh mutters, but he sounds kind of breathless, as if he’s actually relieved. “Learn to answer your phone every once in a while, would you?”

Barry nods, still confused. They both step aside as two men carry out a half-melted aluminum shelf. “What exactly happened here, sir?”

“Lightning struck the skylight about twenty minutes ago,” he replies, hands on his hips, eyeing the debris piling up in the hallway, laid out on an endless roll of white tarp. “No fire, but since this is how you ended up in a coma two years ago, we’re setting up Forensics in the old lab in the basement for now. Maybe permanently. It’s probably safer down there anyway.”

Barry nods again, still confused, because it was sunny outside when he got here, not a cloud in sight. He would almost assume Mardon was up to no good again, except he knew for a fact that the man was still behind bars in Iron Heights.

“Yes, sir,” Barry says faintly, puzzling over the strange phenomenon. He steps aside to make a quick call to Cisco, asking him to keep an eye on the weather, and then he spends the rest of the day hauling what reagents and equipment survived the lightning strike into the basement with the other CSIs. They’ve just finished getting the basics set up by the time his shift ends. He wants to linger to get a better look at the damage, but Singh shoes him away from the upstairs lab as soon as he sees him, obviously paranoid at the thought of repeating history.

Annoyed, Barry gives up and heads home, deciding to take the longer route today. And by ‘ _longer_ ’, he means that he walks, at least a few blocks, because sometimes taking life slow for a change clears his mind just as well as running does.

He’s still ruminating about the lightning strike, when he hears someone strolling briskly behind him. He’s not consciously aware of them at first, his mind a million miles away, but he sure as hell notices the other guy when he grabs Barry by the arm and drags him bodily into the nearest alleyway.

Once the initial shock of being accosted wears off, Barry almost laughs at the poor fool’s attempt at unwittingly trying to rob _the_ _Flash_ —but as Barry turns to face him, his gaze locks on a familiar pair of too-blue eyes, and suddenly it feels as though his whole world has been knocked off its axis.

Barry takes a half step back in surprise but stops when Len doesn’t immediately let go of his arm. They stand together in silence for a moment, neither one of them apparently sure of how to proceed.

“You’re really here?” Barry eventually asks, somewhat breathless, eyeing his companion. Len’s not wearing his trademark leather jacket, but rather a black shirt and a pair of worn blue jeans, both of which look a bit wrinkled, like he just pulled them out of storage. “I mean…I mean, you’re _really_ here?”

“In the flesh,” Len quips, but the humor is ruined somewhat by the hoarseness of his voice, as if he hasn’t been this… _whole_ in a very long time. He clears his throat and then says, “Northeast corner of 104th and Rutherford, third floor, room 15—you want to walk or run?”

Baffled by the non-sequitur, it takes Barry a second to realize Leonard is rattling off the location of one of his hideouts, which is arguably a better place to have whatever awkward kind of conversation they’re about to suffer through together than the middle of greasy alleyway. Then he pulls Len in close to him— _really_ close, because, holy hell, he’s solid and _real_ again—and whisks them away to an apartment complex on the other side of town, zipping up the fire escape ladder and through the pre-emptively unlocked kitchen window before he returns to normal speed in the other man’s living room.

“How did you get here?” Barry asks, mouth still running even though the rest of him has come to a complete halt. “Did that lightning strike have something to do with you? Why has it taken you this long to get a hold of me? Did the Speed Force spit you out later than me? When you got out, did you—”

Len makes something of a half-growl at the back of his throat as he cups Barry’s face and practically smashes their mouths together.

Normally, Barry doesn’t appreciate it when someone interrupts his train of thought, but for once he’s beyond ecstatic for his mind to go completely blank. All that he’s consciously aware of now are the small nips against his lower lip before he submits to Len’s probing tongue, tilting his head ever so gently to one side, hands fisted in the front of Len’s wrinkled shirt. Then they’re moving, slowly, toward the couch, until Barry falls into it, Leonard now kneeling above him, bouncing slightly on the old, worn cushions.

Stretched out on his back, one arm flung above his head, Barry asks, “What are you thinking?”

Leonard grazes his right hand over the hem of Barry’s sweater, teasing it up, fingers brushing against the warm skin just below his navel. His touch is electric. Barry feels a shock of pleasure running from the crown of his head down to his groin, hips minutely canting upward, wishing Leonard would settle his weight against him.

“That you’re insufferably wonderful,” Leonard replies quietly, voice low, pupils blown wide as he drinks in the sight before him, “and that I really want to know what makes a golden boy like you tick.”

Barry chuckles, because he’s somewhat grateful Len didn’t try to go for a cold pun there. Then he reaches down to cover the back of Len’s hand with his own, pressing it flat against his bare stomach and sliding it slowly upward, dragging the hem of his shirt with it. “Just shut up and kiss me again already,” he mutters, lips curled into a curious little half-smile.

And Leonard acquiesces quite enthusiastically.

~*~*~*~

Barry thought his days of waking up stark naked in an unfamiliar apartment were well behind him, the kind of awkward phase better left to his first two years at college. However, this time around, he doesn’t have a hangover or any lingering regrets, which is nice, because it’s so rare that he gets to truly enjoy himself lately. Instead, he has a firm chest pillowed under his head and a long arm curled around him and a steady heartbeat in his ear—and he really couldn’t be happier, even if that delicious ache between his legs has long since faded, along with the humming bliss of a particularly good post-orgasmic haze.

He can tell Len is awake now too by the change in his breathing pattern and the way he briefly squeezes Barry against him. Barry gives him a minute to collect his thoughts before he asks, “Does Lisa know?”

“She’s one of the first people I told after I snuck out of the CCPD yesterday,” Len replies, still sounding heavy with sleep. His hand migrates up Barry’s spine, stopping between his shoulder blades and gently kneading the muscle there with his fingertips.

“Did you have a good talk?”

“Of course.”

“Did she slap you?”

Len’s chest shakes minutely, a silent laugh. “No…but she came close.”

Barry makes a mental note to steer clear of Lisa Snart for a while, lest she think Barry was keeping Len’s putative return a secret from her the night they shared a drink.

After a moment of silence, Len asks, “How…’involved’ in your future were you planning on making me, Scarlet?”

It takes Barry a second to recall their last conversation in the Speed Force, the little implication he made about keeping their paths aligned. It feels so embarrassingly romantic, now that he thinks about it, but he’s not about to back down.

Emboldened, Barry pushes himself up to lean over Len, elbows braced on either side of the other man’s head. Len, of course, is smirking up at him.

“As ‘ _involved’_ as you want to be,” Barry replies. “Although, I might be a tad angry if you disappear for good now that I’ve finally put out for you.”

“I’m usually a ‘ _love ’em and leave ’em behind’_ kind of guy,” Len says, but Barry can tell he’s joking. There’s a heady look in his eyes, like he very much intends to indulge himself in Barry Allen for a good long time to come. “But for you, I think I can make an exception.”

“So…is this an informal toast to new beginnings?” Barry asks. “A promise to take this as far as we possibly can?”

“It is,” Len breathes, just as Barry ducks his head, opening the door to the beginning of forever for them.

And it begins, of course, with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: ...Of course, I wasn't going to let this end as sad as 'Orpheus and Eurydice'. Len deserves a second chance at life. ;)


End file.
